The Lost Tales of Beedle the Bard: Melwin the Meddlesome Muggle
by Tuzilla
Summary: This is story #4 from a recently discovered cache of stories by Beedle the Bard. It is about a nosy boy who sticks his nose into a place that he should not stick it.


**The Lost Tale of Beedle the Bard**

 **Melwin the Meddlesome Muggle**

 ** _-by Tuzilla_**

"Harry! Kids! Dinner's ready," called out Ginny as she leaned out the back door of their house." The smell of freshly baked bread, roasted chicken and vegetables made its way across the yard to them as they paused their game.

"C'mon," said a hungry Harry, trying to shoo the children inside. "Let's wash up and eat. Then, if you behave, we can have a story before bedtime."

The kids hoped the story would be from the new Beedle the Bard book. They hurried in and were soon enjoying their dinner.

"What are you going to read to us, mummy?" Lily asked her in anticipation of the new story. All of them had enjoyed the previous story about Marcach. They had heard stories from their dad about their grandfather and his friends. They knew about animagi, so that story was extra cool to them.

"Yes, what are you going to read us, mum? Is it from that new book?" asked Albus

"I hope it has a dragon," said James.

"Just wait," said Harry. "She's not going to tell you and spoil it. Now finish up your dinner and help your mother clean up. You'll find out soon enough."

"Yes, it is from the new book," added Ginny.

As soon as everyone had finished eating, including a treacle tart for dessert, the kids cleared the table. Ginny cast a couple cleaning charms. As much as she appreciated all of the cooking she had learned from her mother, the cleaning charms were the best.

The sink filled with hot, soapy water. A brush began scrubbing the roasting pan and washcloth started in on the plates, bowls and glasses. The family moved into their places on the sofa and chair.

Ginny open the book and started to read. "This tale is called 'Melwin the Meddlesome Muggle'."

"That sounds a little lame," said James in a snarky voice.

"Okay, then off to bed with you," said Harry.

"Uh…I—I—I didn't say I didn't want to hear it," he quickly replied.

"Then settled down and be polite. Go ahead, dear,"

' _There once was a small, wizarding commune named Boarbristle_. It rested, hidden from muggles, in a small, dampish dale among the hills of the English uplands. To the muggle eye, the village looked like an abandoned farm surrounded by an inhospitable, marshy lowland. But, to the wizarding eye, it was a vibrant community of happy families plying a life removed from the intrusions of the outside world.

In order to meet their greater needs, they earned extra income from the sale of goods to members of the nearby muggle towns. Each week, groups of three or four members of the commune would take muggle-safe potions, clothing, mushrooms, herbs, charms and other ubiquitous crafts to sell the various towns. Their mead and root beer were particularly popular items.

Their goods, because of their fine quality, were highly sought after by the residents of the towns. None of them really knew where these sellers lived, but it did not matter to them. If asked, the people of Aynsley would tell you they lived out near Dunbar Hill. The folks in Dunbar Hill will say they come from near the Aleister river. The folks over that way will point south to Lake Crowley. And the Lake Crowley folks will claim they are from Aynsley.

The arrangement worked very well for many, many years. The muggles got the benefits of the knowledge and craftsmanship of the wizarding commune. The commune got goods and money to satisfy their needs that would require visits to places like Diagon Alley.

One day a boy in the village of Aynsley named Melwin let his curiosity get the best of him. Melwin had a reputation around the village of being too nosy for his own good. He was always sticking his nose into places where he should not be sticking it and he had a penchant for telling far-fetched tales of those things half seen or heard. It was going to get him into big trouble someday is what people were always saying about him.

While the members of the commune were busy selling their goods, he snuck onto their wagon and began poking about. He found many things he probably should not, such as a wand, some runes, an amulet and essence of dittany, but it did not set off his young mind.

He was just about to get off the wagon when he heard the voices of people coming his way. Fearing being found nosing around where he should not be, he climbed under a blanket and hid.

The voices belonged to the commune members. They were done for the day and ready to return home. He heard them loading boxes and bags onto the wagon. After a few moments, they got onto the wagon and started to ride away.

Melwin was now trapped. He was an unintentional stowaway. He had no avenue for escape, and he had no idea where he was going. The best he could do was a few occasional peeks out from under the blanket to see the countryside.

The wagon traveled further and further. Well over an hour passed. He heard strange talk about making potions he had never heard of and repotting screaming mandrakes. He was very puzzled by talk of perfecting a freezing spell so they could collect fire seeds next week.

The wagon finally stopped after what seemed an eternity and he heard one of the commune members say some very weird words. He heard a whoosh and then the wagon started moving. A few minutes later the wagon stopped a second time. He heard and felt everyone get off of it. As he listened, they unloaded it and walked away. Still scared to move, he stayed still under the blanket.

Several more minutes passed. It was nearly silent around the wagon. Melwin cautiously moved to the edge of the wagon and poked his head out from under the blanket. He was in a strange village that he had never before seen. The people were wearing strange clothes. He saw a man in a black robe walking a couple animals he did not recognize. Some children were playing a game across the way. They had sticks and a ball that appeared to be floating in the air. It must have been on a string he could not see. The children watching them had some incredibly delicious-looking candy.

Two men in similar black robes were unloading a different wagon near a store. They had sticks similar to the ones being used by the children. They seemed to be using them to float the items off the wagon and onto the porch in front of the store…but that was impossible.

Some women, also wearing black robes and strange, pointy hats were buying odd-looking vegetables from in front of a store. The plants in front of the store were different than any he had ever seen. Some of the plants moved almost like they were alive beyond that of normal plants.

Darkness began to fall as he kept watching the village from his hiding place. The streets cleared and a peaceful silence fell over the streets. He cautiously got out from under the blanket and climbed down off the wagon.

A crescent moon and an abundance of star gave him enough light to walk through the village. He looked through the occasional lit window. He saw families eating dinner. A pair of older men were playing a game that looked like chess, but the piece seemed to move on their own. An old woman was putting strange things into a cauldron cooking over a fire. Bright sparks and colorful puffs of smoke would rise from it with each new addition. A pair of knitting needles appeared to be knitting all by themselves.

In another house, he saw kids playing with a dog with two tails. Owls were commonplace. They seemed to enjoy taking things and flying off or flying in and leaving things. One elderly lady had a house filled with several hares.

As fascinating as all of this was, it scared him a little. What kind of place was this? Who were these people? He had heard of witches and wizards, but never really believed in them. Could they be real? He wanted to go home, if only he knew where his home was.

Back in Aynsley, Melwin's parents were a bit upset he had not come home for dinner. His father took a quick stroll through town, but did not see him in any of his normal hangouts. Melwin was prone to wandering and often would stay out to late, even all night. However, he seldom missed dinner. When he was not home when his parents decided it was time to go to bed, his mother made his father promise to have a talk with him in the morning about his behavior.

Melwin could hear many of the owls talking to each other. Crickets and frogs filled the air with an abundance of their songs. Most of the windows were closed on the houses, so he could not really hear any human conversations. As the night settled in and the temperature cooled off, he started back to the wagon to sleep under the warmth of the blanket he had used for hiding. Maybe he could sort things out in the morning.

Just as he got to the wagon, he heard a voice say, "Who are you?" He tried to run, but his legs seemed to lock in place. Two silhouettes of men approached him. He was scared, not knowing how much trouble he might be in.

The men looked at Melwin, not recognizing him as a member of their small community.

"Who are you, boy?" said the larger of the two.

"Don't scare him, now, Nicolas," said the smaller man.

The larger man paused, then said, "Of course, Geoffrey. We mean you no harm, lad. You're not from around here. We just want to know who you are."

"I—I'm Melwin. Melwin Fletcher"

"Well, now, Melwin Fletcher," continued Nicolas. "How is it that you have found your way into our village this evening?

"I was on that wagon," said Melwin, pointing to it. "I was under that blanket. I came with the people who sell things in my village."

"Did they know you were there?" asked Geoffrey.

"No, sir. I was hiding."

"Hiding, you say. That is very irresponsible. Very poor character, indeed."

"I think we need to take him over to Gwynndor's," said Nicolas.

"Yes, I believe that would be best."

The two men escorted Melwin over to the house of Gwynndor, leader of the village. They sat Melwin on a sofa while they discussed the situation. Gwynndor began mixing a drink as they talked.

"Here," said Gwynndor as he handed a mug to Melwin. "Have a drink. You must be thirsty and hungry. I will get you some food."

Melwin took a sip. He head began to spin. Then he passed out on the sofa. The three of them carried him out to the wagon and wrapped him in the blanket. The drink was actually a sleep draught laced with a mild confundus charm that would muddle, but not entirely erase his memory. They were worried a stronger charm might injure a young muggle mind.

They rode out into the night to deliver him back to his village. The sleeping draught promised to keep him asleep for several hours. Once they reached the outskirts of Aynsley they placed the sleeping boy and blanket under a large tree. He would wake up in the morning wondering what had happened to him and be confused about whether or not the events of the evening were just be the result of a strange dream created from sleeping outside under a tree.

As morning broke, the birds started singing. Butterflies were fluttering about drinking nectar from the dewy flowers and bees were buzzing around gathering pollen for honey. Melwin was suddenly awakened from his slumber by a particularly big bee standing on his nose, looking him in the face. It proceeded to sink its pointy stinger into him as he watched it with crossed eyes.

"AAAAIIIIIEEEE!" screamed Melwin in shock and acute pain. His cry was loud enough to bring the several of the villagers running from their houses to see what was wrong. They found him sitting under the tree holding his nose. He seemed confused as to why he was there. His nose was rapidly swelling. Before long it looked like a ripe apple stuck to his face.

He told them as best he could remember things of his trip to the magical village and of the strange things and occurrences he had seen. The things he described sounded outlandish. Everyone laughed at him and his now particularly large nose. One man accused him of stealing some of the barley beer from the tavern.

In the end, they assumed it was all just another of his tall tales. He swore it was all true. He tried to show a group of them the location of Boarbristle, but could find nothing but the enchanted marshlands and abandoned farm. His particularly large nose never returned to its normal size.


End file.
